


i found my way with bad directions (let it rain)

by milominderbinder



Series: maia's shameless fic a day in the month of may [29]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Character Study-ish, Kissing in the Rain, M/M, No Dialogue, Rain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-29
Updated: 2014-05-29
Packaged: 2018-01-27 16:16:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1716863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/milominderbinder/pseuds/milominderbinder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mickey waits for Ian during a storm, and thinks about how he's always loved the rain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i found my way with bad directions (let it rain)

There’s something about the rain.

That’s what Mickey’s thinking, as he stands just outside the Gallaghers’ front yard, waiting for Ian to emerge from the safety of the house and join Mickey in the storm.  While he waits, he watches.  Not the few people who are rushing past, not the door of the house to see when it’ll open, not the cars driving by.  Instead of all that shit, all that busyness that sets Mickey’s teeth on edge, he watches the rain itself.  The raindrops are fat, falling almost too slow to look real, and they hit the flooded ground in crowds of rippled circles, little whirls that make him think of the freckle constellations on Ian's back and arms and face.  He’s only wearing a thin hoodie and jeans, and he’s been soaked through already, but he just relishes the feeling.  Feels like he’s been - washed _clean_ , almost.

Mickey has sinned.  Mickey knows this.  Mickey has hurt people too many times, Mickey has hurt _himself_ too many times, Mickey has done things he’s not proud of, and he’s done things he is kinda proud of but which he knows he shouldn’t be.  He’s grown up in a world that’s been too dark and constantly tinged with dirt, stained with blood, dried up by the holding back of tears.

Clean isn’t something he feels very often.

So there's something about the rain.

Mickey doesn't understand what it is, and that kind of drives him crazy - with everything in his life depending on his keeping complete control, lest he slip up and get himself killed, _not knowing_ is kind of the worst thing he can imagine. But yeah, there's something about the rain, and he doesn't know what it is, only that it makes him feel fucking _calm_ , and there's not a lot of things which can do that for him. It's something about the smell, maybe, that fresh damp somehow _bright_ smell that the rain brings, covering up the scents of smoke and meth and sweat that usually fill his life.

Or maybe it’s not the smell.  Maybe it’s the sound.  Mickey’s been living inside his own head for nineteen years now, and it’s fucking busy, too busy for him to handle, most of the time.  There have been moments where he’s wanted to put a bullet in his own skull just to quiet the noise.  He feels, sometimes, like he can never stop _thinking._ He envies people who have monotony, who can get on with the same thing day after day in quiet safety.  Because he’s never had that.  He’s had a constant barrage of fear, he’s spent most of his life either analysing himself or trying to convince himself that whatever he’s concluded from those analyses is _wrong,_ or analysing the people around him, mentally mapping out everything he’s said or done in front of them, trying to gauge what they think of him because of those things, if they’re a threat, if they might have figured out something they shouldn’t.  His mind has been on endless overdrive - it’s _had_ to be, or there’s no way he would have lived this long, with everything he’s done.  And it’s good because it’s served him well and kept him as safe as he's been able to be, but still.  Sometimes, he just wishes it would all just _stop,_ just leave him alone, so he could spend a quiet moment.

And there’s something about the gentle sound of the rain, the _pitter patter,_ which even when it’s heavy and loud like it is now, somehow manages to never be aggressive.  It’s almost - healing.  It’s like white noise or something, because listening it, Mickey somehow manages to tune out the rest of his mind.  He somehow manages to _relax._

So.  There’s something about the rain.

Maybe it’s the fact that for all its great and mighty power, for all the ways it can fuck shit up and scare people and ruin things, the rain still manages to be _gentle._

And maybe that’s not it at all, and maybe it doesn’t even _matter_ what it is that makes rain so comforting to Mickey.  Maybe it just matters that he _knows_ it matters.  He glances up at the Gallaghers’ front door, but still nobody is emerging from it; Ian must’ve gotten caught up in some kind of family drama inside, as usual.  Normally Mickey would be annoyed, but with the rain hammering down around him, drowning everything else out, he can’t bring himself to care.  It’s worth a few more minutes of waiting, to get to do this with Ian.

Closing his eyes, he turns his face up to the sky.  The raindrops are cold and so heavy that they almost hurt where they hit the soft skin of his cheeks, lips, eyelids, but he doesn’t care.  He wraps his arms around himself, tight, to keep the shivers from how cold he is at bay, and smiles, just a little.

He’s got big plans for this storm, except they’re not big, they’re little, really fucking little, and that’s what _makes_ them big.  He’s got plans to see Ian.  Which, to Mickey, always feels pretty big, intense and thrilling and terrifying and something which can only be described as _warm,_ some strange kind of safety that he always feels around Ian, even when they’re in the most dangerous situations.  He’s been taking solace in the rain for years, but he’s never, ever wanted to share it with someone before.

Today, he wants to share it with Ian.  And he’s not even trying to fight that fact, because he’s over trying to fight things inside himself, now.  He’s figured out that it just leaves him all torn up and nobody else any better or worse; he’s realised that he should try and give a shit about himself _,_ because otherwise, he’s never gonna get anywhere good.  It’s slow, small steps that he’s taking, but with each one, he feels a little more secretly proud of himself, somewhere in the deepest cavern of his heart.

When Ian finally emerges from the door, he’s wearing a huge coat and waterproof boots, and smiling like he doesn’t want to be anywhere else in the world.  He’s by Mickey’s side in a second, and Mickey can’t help it, because Ian’s face is bright and happy and perfect and Mickey’s only just starting to learn about good things, lately, but if there’s one good thing he’s never had a doubt about, it’s Ian Gallagher.  He reaches up and kisses Ian, with his numb, cold wet lips, and Ian kisses back.  He’s warm, so much warmer than Mickey, but after a moment of the kiss, the heat is shared between them.  Mickey’s lips start to tingle as the feeling comes back to them, and he kisses Ian harder, trying to speed up the process.  Ian doesn’t seem to mind giving up a little of his own warmth for Mickey’s sake.

 _What a fuckin’ metaphor,_ Mickey thinks, laughing inside his head.  Still, he clutches Ian a little tighter than usual, as the rain runs off their skin, and doesn’t want to let go, is happier than he thinks most people will ever be in their lives, just during this one silly quiet moment.  

He thinks that maybe, Ian’s more special than the rain after all.

**Author's Note:**

> for the fic a day in may. the title is from an eliza doolittle song :3 i heard the lyric and thought of mickey and then i vomited into a gdoc and somehow this fic happened. i know it's very different to the rest of my may fics, and i hope you guys like it, because i wasn't sure if any of these thoughts were especially clear or logical... ugh i identify with mickey too much for my own good
> 
> find me on tumblr: [mickeymilk](http://mickeymilk.tumblr.com)


End file.
